


Blue

by wynnebat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Murder, M/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-02-08 08:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12860271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: Derek brings both Scott and Stiles to the hospital to prove a point about hunters, but Stiles isn’t sure the point he’s getting is the point Derek’s trying to make. Especially when his black and white world explodes into color the moment he looks into Peter Hale’s eyes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU of the scene in S1E4 where Derek takes Scott to see Peter. Kate is back in town, Stiles nearly had to cut off Derek’s arm earlier that day, and Scott’s really concerned about wolfing out while making out with Allison. School Night hasn’t happened yet. 
> 
> Scott and Derek’s first lines are taken directly from the episode. 
> 
> Written for soulmates/mates/anchors AU day of Steter Week 2017.

It's nighttime when Stiles, Scott, and Derek arrive in the long-term care ward of the Beacon Hills Medical Hospital, but the room they enter is dark, the lights turned off. That's the first thing Stiles notices, stepping from the lit hallway to the unlit little room that Derek has dragged him and Scott into to prove a point about the Argents. Stiles doesn't really need it—having to nearly chop Derek's arm off after he'd been hit by the Argents' wolfsbane bullets had been enough—but Scott's in love and just back from a nice family dinner. Chris was crazy overprotective, Scott had told him on the ride over, but it had been the normal sort of crazy. The way a dad gets when his daughter starts seeing a boy, not the way he'd probably shoot Scott if he figures out Scott is a werewolf.

 _She's my soulmate,_ Scott had said, lovestruck for the first time in his life.

Maybe Stiles doesn't get it because he's never met his own, never met the person who will finally bring color into his world, but he still thinks Scott could be more careful. Stiles is going to cover for him and help him and try not to have a heart attack next time Scott tries to kill him again anyway, but still.

Stiles flicks the light switch when it looks like Derek is content to leave the lights off for the aesthetic. Threatening speeches are better in the darkness, and Derek looks like he wants to shake Scott until all the teenage lust drops out of him. Which, good fucking luck. Stiles has already tried.

It's a sad little room, small with only a bed and a man in a wheelchair as the only two fixtures of the room. The man is facing mostly away from the door. The only part of him Stiles can see is the back of his head and his ear. He doesn't turn even though he must have heard them come in.

Derek introduces the man in the wheelchair as Peter Hale, and it sparks something in Stiles' vague childhood memories. The third survivor the the Hale fire. Stiles picks up the clipboard attached to the wall while Derek talks and skims the pages. Persistent vegetative state, not comatose like Stiles had read in the newspaper years ago. Stable condition, but no signs of waking.

He only tunes in when Scott asks, "Is he like you? A werewolf?"

"He was. Now he's barely even human," Derek replies.

Which, holy shit, no. Stiles has had it with Derek slamming him into things, but he still says, "He's your uncle. Of course he's still human—or werewolf, or whatever. He's not brain dead."

It's been hours since sunset, Stiles can't help but think, and the lights are still off. He wonders when the last time a nurse came to check on Peter was. And even though he can't see in color, he knows the room must be just as drab and boring even to those who can.

"He's as good as," Derek says, quietly, reacting with more sadness than anger. "He hasn't said a word in six years. My sister and I were at school when our home burned down with eleven people still inside. Humans and werewolves alike were trapped inside by hunters to die the worst kind of death imaginable. Peter was the only survivor." Derek takes hold of the wheelchair and turns it around to face them head on. "This is what people like the Argents do to us, Scott."

Derek is still talking, but all the blood has fled from Stiles' face and he can't hear what the man is trying to say.

Peter's eyes are filled in with color. Stiles doesn't know which one—he's only heard people talk about colors, but it's never made sense to him until now—but it's lovely, the color, and Stiles' own eyes are wide and unable to look away. Slowly, color begins to seep into the rest of the world, spreading outward from Peter's eyes. The scars covering half his face are so much worse in color, raw in a way Stiles has never seen before. The horror dulls some of Stiles' excitement, but he still looks around the room. He's trying to be subtle about it, but Derek and Scott are too busy talking to notice. Stiles can see the bright colors of his own clothes, the way that even to his uneducated eye they clash pretty horribly. No wonder Lydia is always looking down her nose at him. But she's been able to see colors since kindergarten, not that Jackson is much of a catch, soulmate-wise.

Horribly, Stiles realizes that Peter Hale isn't a great one, either. He's never a huge romantic, but he's still been waiting for the day he meets his soulmate. The person who's supposed to complete him, love him, hopefully even help Stiles get rid of his pesky virginity. The scarring is horrific, but the longer Stiles looks at him, the less shocking it is. But the fact remains: Stiles' soulmate hasn't left this unresponsive state in six years. The chances of Peter and him riding off into the sunset are staggeringly small.

Stiles' soulmate has been in Beacon Hills this whole time, but he's still so far away.

"Why is he here?" Stiles asks, raising his voice over whatever argument Derek and Scott have gotten into. That's what he really needs to know.

Derek gives Scott one last glare and turns to Stiles. "In the hospital? Look at him, Stiles."

"I am," Stiles replies, clenching his hands. "Why didn't you and Laura just get him transferred closer to where you two moved to after the fire? Why leave him here?"

Derek's voice has an edge in it as he says, "We weren't thinking clearly after the fire. All we knew is that we had to get away. Our entire family had been murdered, Stiles. I'm sorry for not being the nephew of the year."

"And after? A month, a year? Hell, five years? You've visited him at least, right?" Stiles asks, nearly frantic. "Right?"

His soulmate should've had someone visit him at least. Someone to care that he'd been in this little room with the lights turned off. If only they'd met before the fire… Stiles knows it would've been agonizing, visiting this man in the hospital as Stiles had done for his mother, but at least it would've been something. It's only his imagination, but he thinks the color of Peter's eyes looks deeper for just a second.

"Laura must have seen him when she came back to Beacon Hills," Derek says, reluctantly. "Look, of all the people who could've survived the fire..." Derek sighs. "Peter wasn't my first choice, alright? Neither was he Laura's. He was a ruthless asshole with more blood on his claws than anyone else in the whole pack. He did it to defend the territory, but..." Derek's whole face seems to curl. "Most of my memories of him are him arguing with my mom or being a jerk. I had to focus on my surviving family, and Peter… He didn't survive the fire, not really."

Stiles is breathing, but he can't feel the air reach his lungs. His soulmate's a shitty person, okay. Stiles isn't exactly perfect himself. The thing about Peter having blood on his claws is worrying, but that doesn't really matter right now.

"You keep saying that, but look at him. He's still a person. He's still breathing." And then he remembers the clipboard and, "And he's here under his real name, fuck. You just said hunters know the Hales are werewolves." His soulmate could've died before Stiles even got the chance to meet him. There's not much hope right now, but there's still a little, there's still enough. If things had gone just a little differently, Stiles would've never gotten the chance to see the world as it really is. Derek's giving him a weird look, but Stiles doesn't care. "He could've been killed."

"There's no need. He's in a coma. No one would have bothered with him. The hunters... they like playing with their prey. Peter wouldn't give them a good enough fight."

"Would that really matter to the ones who want to wipe out all werewolves? The ones who don't follow that code you were talking about." The ones who literally already attacked him once, Stiles thinks, and wants to hit someone. He can't do a single thing. There's no point getting angry about this. Peter isn't awake enough to care. Derek doesn't give a shit.

That's his soulmate right there. The person who'd brought color to Stiles' world.

"Nothing happened to him," Derek replies, and then he opens the door. "Let's go. I've said what I needed to say. Scott… At least try to think about what I've told you. This is what hunters do to people like us."

"Fine," Scott says, still sounding reluctant. He starts walking, then looks back. "Stiles, are you coming?"

Stiles looks between them and Peter. It's going to help absolutely no one if he continues to torture himself, but… "I'm going to stay for a little while. The man needs some visitors at least."

Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles' pointed look. The color of his eyes is rather pretty, but Stiles wants to punch him in those eyes instead. "Whatever."

Scott at least offers to stay with him, but Stiles waves him off, saying he'll ask Scott's mom for a ride home. Her shift is going to be over in an hour. With that, they're gone, and Stiles is alone with Peter. There isn't even a chair for Stiles to sit down into, so he takes a seat on the bed. The room is so quiet. Stiles can't distract himself with colors he can now see them because the room is as frustratingly bland with colors as without. He looks down and realizes his hands are shaking. Stiles doesn't know when that started.

When he finally stops shaking, he looks back at Peter. "My name is Stiles Stilinski. It's not my real first name, but you only get that one when you wake up. I know… I know there's not much of a chance that you can hear me, but if you can… I'm sorry I've never visited. I didn't know. But I can start now, okay? Maybe not every day, since I have classes and lacrosse, but I can visit you every week at least. I _will_ visit you every week. I'll talk your ear off. Maybe you'll wake up just because you want to throttle me." Nothing changes the longer he looks at Peter, and despite the determination in Stiles' voice, he wants to cry. He scoots back farther on the bed and brings his hands around his knees and presses his face down and just focuses on not breaking down. Quietly, he says to himself, "You can't cry in front of your soulmate. You just met him. What's he going to think?"

Except no matter what he tells himself, the answer's nothing. His soulmate is going to think nothing because if he hasn't woken up in six years, there's a good chance that nothing will wake him. Not even Stiles, who isn't a miracle worker.

"He's going to think you're remarkable, Stiles," says a voice.

There are two people in this room. The door hasn't opened.

Stiles' head shoots up and he sees Peter sit upright from the slump he'd been in earlier. His head sits straight instead of tilting backwards. And then, right before Stiles' eyes, Peter stands up.

There aren't many things that Peter being awake can mean. Stiles’ brain doesn't even have to go through any loops to connect a few dots.

And yet, Stiles still scrambles up, nearly tripping in his haste to get off the bed. He realizes only inches away that maybe it will hurt Peter too much, but Peter's opening his arms and Stiles all but flies into them. He hugs gently at first, then tighter when he realizes how tightly Peter is holding him.

"You're awake," Stiles breathes. The few tears that had made their way from his eyes dry on Peter's shirt. "Thank you, oh my god, Peter."

"You won't be thankful for very much longer, I think," Peter says, his words nearly too quiet to reach Stiles' ears.

"Did you have a reason? A good one?"

Peter stills and there's something almost like wonder in his voice as he says, "I did."

"Okay," Stiles replies, hugging him tighter. He'll need actual explanations eventually, he knows, but right now all that matters is that he's not alone. He's not doomed to a life of hoping that maybe his soulmate will wake up. There's actual hope. Maybe it's a desperate, dark kind of hope, but it's enough. "Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mitsususu on tumblr.

They find themselves on the bed, Peter’s back against the wall and Stiles just draped around him in a hug that he never wants to end. It’s been a long few weeks—it’s been a long few months—it’s been a long few years. He can’t remember the last time he was hugged as thoroughly as Peter is now. He and Scott are bros, and bros don’t sit around cuddling. His dad hasn’t been affectionate without his mom around reminding him not to be so gruff, and his mom… Stiles remembers her hugs from before she became sick, but now he wishes he could’ve had color in his memories, too. Peter cards his fingers through Stiles’ hair as though he understands Stiles’ every need. Maybe he does; Stiles doesn’t know much about werewolves, and his research into pheromones had been contradictory and confusing.

Eventually, Stiles says, “Tell me, please,” and Peter does. It’s part what Derek has already told them, part what Stiles has been able to uncover, part completely new information, all adding up to something so thoughtlessly horrible. Ten people dead only for a notch in Kate’s hunting bow. Stiles has to wonder if there have been more packs like the Hales in the years since, more wolves like Peter left to heal on their own. Kate hadn’t gone after Peter in the years after the fire; maybe she hadn’t found him interesting enough to murder. Once Peter is quiet, his words heavy in the air between them, Stiles asks, “How do you feel about going the non-murderous route from now on?”

Peter’s arms tighten around him slightly. “Not favorably.”

Stiles is pressed against the side of Peter’s neck that bears no scars, but he extends his hand to rest on the other side. The scars are rough under his skin, red and horrible even after all these years. “Yeah, I thought so. Tell me how I can help you.”

“Stiles, you don’t have to be an accomplice to this. You’re my soulmate, but that doesn’t make this your fight. I’ve waited so long to meet you; I can’t bear to have you taken away from me,” Peter’s words are quiet, his tone soothing, and it’s a valiant effort at trying to keep Stiles out of danger.

Too bad Stiles has never been good at keeping himself out of danger. He doesn’t think Peter’s all that great at it either, not with how chaotic and messy his revenge spree has been so far. “I’m your pack. That makes this my fight. You’re not going to be able to convince me any differently.” Peter huffs, and Stiles brings his head up to look into Peter’s eyes. He really needs to figure out what that color is; maybe he can paint the walls of his room the same exact shade. “I’m your soulmate, too, and I don’t think you expected to be bound to someone who’ll let you go off on your own.”

Peter lifts a hand to run it over Stiles’ cheek. “I hoped, but I’ve never met someone who has truly stayed by my side instead of falling behind or ahead.”

“I’d just pull you with me if I really needed to run ahead. Ask Scott, he knows I’m good at dragging people into things.” And Scott reminds Stiles again of just how dangerous all of this is, even if Scott hadn’t realized how unsafe he’d been at the Argents’ earlier that day. “I know you want your revenge, and you’ll have it. But Kate’s dangerous.”

“So am I.” One of Peter’s fingers sprouts a claw.

Stiles’ lips quirk up at the sight. “You’re so dramatic.”

“What’s life without a little drama?” Peter replies.

“But you’re not immortal. Do you need a confrontation with Kate? One where you might die, or I might die, or even Scott or Derek? One where she might manage to hurt even more people than she already has?”

Peter frowns. “What are you saying?”

“Just that poison or a bullet during a quick ambush wouldn’t be as satisfying as challenging her directly, but if we plan it well, it would be a safer way to kill an experienced hunter,” Stiles says. Upon saying the words, he takes a second to see if he feels any guilt at offering a different way to murder a human being. Guilt doesn’t seem to be factoring in, though, only protectiveness and anger on Peter’s behalf. “You may not be able to have a confrontation with her like you want, but it’ll be safer. You’ll live, Peter. You’ll be able to make a life, a new pack, anything. Isn’t that better than possibly dying for your revenge?”

Peter tips Stiles’ face up and kisses him once, soft and slow and full of promise. Stiles feels surrounded here in Peter’s arms, but he knows in his very bones that Peter would never hurt him. It’s comfortable, wonderful, better than anything Stiles has ever felt.

“If you’re this worried, then I’ll find another way,” Peter agrees. His eyes don’t waver from Stiles’, something soft in his gaze. “But I expect you to join me in that new life you want me to lead.”

“You couldn’t possibly keep me away,” Stiles promises. He wants this, every bit of time with Peter he can squeeze from the world. If that means Kate has to die, then Stiles will kill her himself if he has to.

 

*

 

Years later, Kate Argent’s murder is still unsolved, an oddity in the usually quiet town of Beacon Hills. Only a family of three is aware of a manila folder that arrived with evidence of Kate’s sins, and that family is long gone from the town. The string of unfortunate animal attacks stopped directly after her death; a rumor had gone around that Kate had kept a jaguar as a pet to kill people, but it’s only an urban legend in a town with too many gossipy, imagination-driven teenagers.

Still, when Stiles moves into the rebuilt Hale house upon graduation, he’s asked, “Aren’t you worried about some kind of animal attack?”

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty good at self-defense,” Stiles says, a hint of a smile on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also on tumblr as @[crownwithoutstones](https://crownwithoutstones.tumblr.com/).


End file.
